id--"Your poor brother has been
calling for you--see him instantly--for his sands are numbered. The
doctor thinks he cannot pass the turn of the day."

"God bless your ladyship," replied Corbet, "for your uncommon kindness
and attention to him during his long and severe illness. All that could
be done for a person in his circumstances, your ladyship did; and I know
he is deeply sensible of it, my lady."

"It was only my duty, Corbet," she replied, "to a true-hearted and
faithful servant, for such he was to our family. I could not forget
the esteem in which his master, my dear husband, held him, nor the
confidence which he never failed, and justly, to repose in him. Go
immediately to him, for he has expressed much anxiety to see you."

His brother, indeed, found him hovering on the very brink of the grave.
What their conversation was, we know not, unless in so far as a portion
of it at least may be inferred from the subsequent circumstances of our
story. After having spent about an hour with him, his brother, who,
it seems, had some pressing commissions to execute for Sir Thomas, was
obliged to leave him for a time, but promised to return as soon as he
could, get them discharged. In the meantime, poor Corbet sank rapidly
after Charles's departure, and begged, with a degree of anguish that
was pitiable, to see Lady Gourlay, as he had something, he said, of the
utmost importance to communicate to her. Lady Gourlay, however, had gone
out, and none of the family could give any opinion as to the period of
her return; whilst the dying man seemed to experience a feeling that
amounted almost to agony at her absence. In this state he remained for
about three hours, when at length she returned, and found him with the
mild and ghastly impress of immediate death visible in his languid,
dying eyes, and hollow countenance.

"They tell me you wish to see me, Corbet," she said--"If there is
anything that can be done to soothe your mind, or afford you ease and
comfort in your departing hour, mention it, and, if it be within our
power, it shall be done."

He made an effort to speak, but his voice was all but gone. At length,
after several efforts, he was able to make, her understand that he
wished her to bend down her head to him; she did so; and in accents that
were barely, and not without one or two repetitions, intelligible, he
was able to say, "Your son is living, and Sir Thomas knows----"

Lady Gourlay was of a feminine, gentle